Notes
by WallofIllusion
Summary: A collection of Death Note drabbles. Characters featured: L, Mello, Near, Halle Lidner, Matt. Mostly drama and angst.
1. Mark

Okay, yes. I know. It's a bit of a stupid title, but you're just going to have to deal with that. It's better than "Death Note Drabbles," or at least I think it is.

Like I said, these will be a whole bunch of drabbles. A lot of them will be for the "Wammy's House Union" 10 themes challenge. (the irhome.fc2web.c om take out the spaces.)

This particular drabble is one of the themes, "Mark." I wrote this quite a while ago, shortly after I got volume ten.

**Character(s):** Mello

**Setting:** page.85 or thereabouts.

** Spoilers:** mild, page.76

* * *

**Mark**

The woman was going out again.

Quickly, Mello prepared to follow her. He shrugged on his jacket and slid wide sunglasses onto his face. Loosed a section of hair from behind his ear.

Just like always.

It had become instinct now: stay inside as much as possible. Hide face when venturing outside.

Even the miniscule jerks and flicks of his head that allowed more hair to fall in front of his face had become second nature.

Mello hated it. It left a bitter taste in his mouth and stomach, even more because he knew how necessary it was. If he wanted to stay alive, if he wanted to retain a heart that worked correctly, he had to hide his face. Especially his scar, which Mello thought stood out far too much, conspicuously screaming "explosion victim."

The scar and the necessity of hiding his face were reminders (as if he'd ever forget) of his failure against Kira. They were reminders that Kira had something on him, Kira had his _name_, and that Mello was already in a desperately dangerous situation. They were reminders that Mello skirmished with Kira and _lost_.

Mello hated losing.

But he had to hide his face.


	2. Noel

This one actually isn't for the WHU challenge. I wrote this a while ago as well; it's the only fanfiction I managed to crank out between volumes eleven and twelve, for some reason.

**Character(s):** Mello**  
**

**Setting:** Christmas Eve

**Spoilers:** None, but it'll make considerably more sense if you've read volume eleven.**  
**

* * *

**Noel **

Mello slipped into the church a few minutes after the start of the Christmas Eve service. Planning to leave early, he took a seat in the back, far from the few worshippers who crowded near the front of the small church, and gave his hood one last tug over his eyes before joining the congregation in its hymns.

They were the ordinary Christmas hymns that he'd grown up with, except in Japanese, and Mello sang in English when he added his voice to the mix. He even tossed in what he knew of the French in "The First Noel." That way it felt almost-familiar, and it was comforting.

They all sat when the hymns were over. The preacher, a little old Japanese man with wrinkled skin, stepped up to the pulpit and began the sermon.

It was the typical Christmas Eve sermon, designed as usual to summarize the Good News and get it out to those who only attended church on Christmas and Easter. But there were differences, too. The preacher sounded weary, almost pleading, when he spoke of the forgiveness of sins, and he emphasized that Christ was the savior, that no one else could provide salvation, that anything else claiming to offer salvation was merely a false idol that God Almighty would crush beneath his palm.

Meanwhile the other worshippers checked their watches to make sure they weren't missing NHN's News at Nine.

The sermon ended, and Mello rose and turned to the doors as everyone bowed their heads in prayer. The preacher prayed for deliverance, for strength in facing their changing world, and Mello repeated the words in his heart to make the prayer his own. Then he slipped unseen back into the cold night.


	3. News

WHU challenge again. One of Near's themes, "News." I wrote this one post-series; the idea lurked in my head for a while and then the challenge gave me reason to give it form.

**Character(s): **Near, SPK

**Setting: **page.99

**Spoilers: **end spoilers. page.104 to be exact.

* * *

**News**

A light beeping indicates an incoming call, and Near glances up from the Mello and Takada puppets in his right hand.

"It's Gevanni," Rester announces.

Near nods and picks up the Mikami puppet. "Connect him, please," he says, interested to know how Mikami is reacting to this… situation.

Rester puts Gevanni's call through and asks, "What is it?"

"Mikami's at the bank!" Gevanni's voice is low and urgent.

_What?_

"But he just went yesterday!" Rester protests as the beginnings of a horrifying idea form in Near's mind.

"He left his law firm abruptly just a little while ago, and for the first time he actually seemed to take notice of me. And he looked nervous—"

"He's been using a fake Note," Near interrupts intensely as quick logic verifies the concept. "The one we manipulated was fake." He feels paralyzed by the realization. _He's kept the real one hidden… someone else has been killing? Probably Takada. Then—no. NO._

The Mello puppet slips from his shaking fingers. But—

_No. There isn't time. We have to do something. If it's true, then it's already_ (he catches his breath and forces fear and emotion out of his mind) _it's already too late._


	4. Last

WHU challenge; one of L's themes, "Last."

Oh, by-the-by, L's habit of going straight to the snacks is derived from my own inability to step into the Borders near my home without walking straight to the manga.

**Character(s): **L/Ryuzaki

**Setting: **page.56 or something.

**Spoilers: **page.55, I suppose. Will only have significance if you've read page.58.**  
**

* * *

**Last**

Ryuzaki picked up a basket on the way into the grocery store and shuffled straight over to the snacks section. That was always where he started shopping; even if he needed something else, he would have headed to the snack aisle first. It was just his habit. As it was, today he _was_ there to buy some more snacks. He scanned the shelves eagerly, picking this and that and tossing them into the basket.

As he did so, he couldn't help but imagine the incredulous look Light would have given him if he'd seen his selections. Light didn't exactly approve of Ryuzaki's sweets habit and had made that quite clear when they were handcuffed together. Now that they weren't, Ryuzaki supposed—

And then he had to cut his thoughts short because they were running off again, tracing along the evidence and analysis that, no matter how hard he tried, always led to the same conclusion: Yagami Light was Kira. But that was wrong. And he would just have to accept it.

With a short, petulant sigh, Ryuzaki picked out one last snack—a box of Hello Panda cookies—and proceeded to check-out.


	5. Melancholy

WHU challenge; for Mello's "Melancholy."

Please interpret the beginning however you wish. At some point in the last month, I somehow became a HallexMello fan, except only sometimes. I don't understand it.

**Character(s): **Mello, Halle Lidner

**Setting:** pre-page.76

**Spoilers: **page.76

* * *

**Melancholy**

Mello was pulled out of a light sleep as Halle got out of bed and began to get dressed. He sat up and leaned back on his hands. "Hn? You're leaving already?"

"Yes," Halle answered, sliding into a blouse. "I'm going back to the headquarters."

Mello cocked his head. "…For Near's sake," he stated flatly.

There was no jealously audible in his voice, but something prompted Halle to respond, "Well, yes, that's part of it."

Halle finished getting dressed and started towards the door of the bedroom.

"Hey…" Mello said suddenly. His voice was low and thoughtful. "You were in my dream last night."

"Oh?" Halle turned back with a quirked eyebrow.

"You called me and told me that Near had died. In the dream."

Halle hadn't expected that, and she just stared at him. "…Really?"

"Yeah."

There was silence for a few moments, and then Mello clarified, quite unnecessarily, "Died of a heart attack."

"Well, yes…"

"I was…" Mello paused, remembering the dream. Remembering the way Halle's announcement had felt like a physical blow, how it had knocked all the wind out of him. Remembering how the first words he'd stuttered had been to protest that no, that was impossible, he couldn't have…

Halle was watching him quizzically, so Mello finished his sentence. "…shocked."

The word was generic enough, implying none of the unwanted horror that had permeated his core. Still, Halle gazed at him with some concern, and Mello grew uncomfortable.

"Anyway," he said, a little forcefully, "You have to get back to the headquarters, right?"

"Mello…" Halle whispered, sounding as if she very much wanted to say something, but couldn't figure out what.

"Forget it. It's not like I told for any reason or anything." He laid back down and turned away from her.

After a moment, he heard her breathe a sigh. "See you later," she said softly.

"Yeah."


	6. Necessity

Another WHU challenge fic; for Near's "News."

**Character(s): **Near

**Setting: **February 26th, 2010

**Spoilers: **end.

* * *

**Necessity**

Near awoke in the early hours on the morning of February 26th, 2010, with a faint but persistent feeling of dread lurking around his shoulders. Realizing the date, he considered for a brief moment the idea of going back to sleep.

But no, that was ridiculous; he was awake now and no longer tired. He pushed aside a stuffed animal and sat up in bed.

The thought _one month ago today_ passed fleetingly through his mind and he it slip away. His eyes roved the room, searching for some form of entertainment, as he slipped out of his sheets and padded towards his computer chair.

He was growing used to the apartment, which he'd purchased a week ago to serve as his headquarters for the time being. It was a penthouse apartment that had overlooked the Philadelphia skyline until Near put up thick blinds, and now it was filled with computers and toys.

The computers were not on. Near did not turn them on. But he reached for a puzzle—of course, yes. A puzzle. And he sat down in his chair and started on the puzzle, and he waited.

There was a chance it would not come. Maybe he hadn't set one. Maybe it would go to someone else instead—Roger, perhaps. Or possibly Lidner. Logically, that was quite possible.

But—

_No._ Near softly pressed a piece into place. _It will come._

He wasn't entirely sure how he knew this; he sensed it, felt it as a hunch. Strange. He had never been one to have hunches before. He'd considered them superfluous. But this, this was so certain—a conviction, based on absolutely nothing.

Strange.

Near hadn't checked the time when he got up, so he wasn't sure how many hours it had been when finally there was a gentle buzz from his computers. They were turning on, seemingly of their own accord. Near's skin felt cold, and he kept his eyes trained firmly on his puzzle and silently counted out the amount of time it would take for his computers to turn on fully.

Then he raised his eyes to look at the monitor directly in front of him.

A large M flashed on the screen—on all of them—in a deep blood red and a harsh, rough font. Then it disappeared, replaced by a single line of text in the same font and color.

_You're welcome, bastard._

Near swallowed his shock and breathed softly in and out until the message flickered off the screen and his normal desktop replaced it.

So he _had_ known. He'd known, and he'd… It was hard for Near to contemplate. Something about the thought made him uncomfortable, something about the kind of mentality that would take—

Near wasn't like that. He couldn't be like that. He valued nothing, nothing in the world more than his own life, and he'd always believed that that was the best mindset to have. The safest, the wisest. But if Mello had had that mindset—if he hadn't—no, there was little point in contemplating that. There was virtually no point at all in contemplating that. If Mello had had that kind of mindset, things would have been different from the beginning.

As it was, Mello had died with his typical obsessed mindset, and Near supposed he should be grateful for that. And he was—almost desperately so.

—Mello had known he would be.

Yes—yes, Mello had realized, hadn't he, how deeply and desperately Near would be in his debt. Yes, that was it. Near made a strange noise in his throat, a strangled laugh or a stifled sob. There was no geniality in Mello's message. No sincerity. It was nothing more than a childish taunt, a bitter declaration that in the end, Mello had put Near permanently in his debt.

_You'd be dead without me_, was the message.

_You need me._

_I win._

* * *

End comment: ...Yes, I honestly believe Mello knew exactly what he was doing when he was killed. I have a fair amount of what could pass for "evidence" but I don't feel like going into that right now. In any case, if you think I'm crazy for believing that, good for you and so do I sometimes. If you have concrete evidence in either direction you are invited to give it in your review. 


	7. Nexus

Another drabble for the WHU challenge. Near's. Once again focusing on Mello. DX I swear my next Near will have nothing to do with Mello. That's a promise.

**Character(s):** Near, Lidner (If you haven't figured it out yet, I'm rather fond of Lidner.)

**Setting:** page.100

** Spoilers:** None, really, but you have to be at page.100 or beyond to know what the heck's going on.

* * *

**Nexus**

Concerned, they'd asked her to try to convince him to sleep. She, too, thinks it will do him good, so she kneels by him as he plays.

"…You should really get some sleep. Tomorrow's going to be a big day."

She feels like such a mother. Her own mother said things like that to her when she was young, though it was never anything as monumental as this case.

"I don't need to. I'm not tired."

He sounds like a pouting child. All he does is play with his toys, his hair falling over his face, and she's not sure—never sure—what he's thinking.

"You need to be at your best tomorrow."

"The outcome of tomorrow's events will depend less on whether or not I sleep and more on various preparations that have already been completed."

Yes, and upon the problem that you solved, right? The resentful thought surfaces immediately before she can stop it and for a moment her eyes narrow. But then she calms herself; can she really be resentful? In all likelihood, her life depends just as much as his does on whatever "problem" he fixed. That is the bitter truth.

"If everything's ready, then why don't you sleep? It really will help."

"I don't want to go to sleep."

He says it very firmly, as if he wants to put an end to the conversation, but she doesn't intend to let him do so. She is about to repeat her point, but then, his head bent firmly down and his eyes trained devotedly on his toys, he speaks again, his voice quieter.

"It's waking up that I'm worried about."

She is confused by the strange statement for only a moment. After that moment, she remembers what it was like for her that morning, waking from an uneasy sleep to a few minutes' peace. She'd started to make herself a cup of coffee, and then memory and dizzying, refreshed despair had hit. She wonders if—no, she knows that the re-realization would not have been so severe if she had not had those few hours of unawareness, during which the pain of the previous day had faded, temporarily forgotten.

"……"

There are many, many things she can't understand about him, but irony, with its twisted sense of humor, makes this glitteringly clear to her. She turns away, her words defeated and her campaign abandoned.


	8. Memory

Another WHU challenge fic. This time starring Matt. Woot.

**Character(s):** Matt, Mello and others mentioned

**Setting:** page.84 or something?

** Spoilers:** existence, page.84

* * *

I don't know how he got my number. Probably through Roger or something, I guess, but I don't know how the House would have had my number, either.

Which is why I was taken completely by surprise when Mello called me up.

"Hey, Matt?" I'd like to say that I recognized his voice, but that would be a lie. It _had_ been five years, so I guess it's natural.

"Yeah, that's me. Who's this?"

"Matt, it's Mello."

"_Mello_?!" Like I said, I was completely flabbergasted. All I could manage as a reply was an inarticulate, "Wow, hi."

"Hi," Mello answered ironically, obviously amused by my utter lack of conversational skills. But his humor dried up at once. "Listen, Matt. I'm going to ask you something, and I want you to seriously think before answering, all right?"

"Sure, okay."

I think I remember him sighing there—irritated by my flippancy? In any case, it didn't stop him from asking, "Will you help me catch Kira?"

_Will I help him catch Kira? _I remember thinking. _That's the big question?_ _Jeez, that doesn't require any thought at all!_

Kira had murdered L.

That's all anyone from Wammy's House would need to know to make that decision, and everyone from Wammy's House _did_ know. Roger had called for everyone's attention one night at dinner and made the announcement.

God, it was awful. Forget a pin drop—you could hear dust hitting the floor in the shocked silence that followed. Some of the girls started crying—a few of the younger boys, too. And then the whole next week, everyone was just completely hopeless. It was like you couldn't breathe without sucking in despair.

That's something I've always envied Mello for. The bastard got out early—left the House the night before Roger's announcement. I assume he already knew or something. I've never asked.

But with him—my best friend at Wammy's House—gone, and that awful atmosphere hanging around the place, it wasn't long before I dropped out too. And then I started living a worthless life. That sounds blunt, but there's really nothing else to call it. I guess it's not surprising; I mean, no matter how you look at it, I'm not cut out to be a detective.

So I spent the substantial amount I'd inherited from L through Wammy's House on second-hand furniture and first-class gaming systems. I applied my powers of logic and observation, honed so carefully and obsessively at Wammy's House, to strategy and puzzle games.

God, was it boring.

And I'd still be living that way if Mello hadn't called.

Would I help him catch Kira?

"Hell yeah, I will."


	9. Blaspheme

I've been wanting to do a "talking about L with capital-letter pronouns" fic for a while.

This also serves as "long" for the WHU challenge, though I became attached to the title "Blaspheme."**  
**

**Character(s):** Mello (narrating), L (discussed), Near (discussed)

**Setting:** meh... any time second arc.

** Spoilers:** 58+

* * *

**Blaspheme**

What was L to us?

He was our God.

It may seem strange for me of all people to say that, but don't assume that it's just a random whim of mine. I've thought about it a lot.

What is God?

Is God the law-maker, the setter of moral guidelines? Then L was our God. Without a doubt. We based our studies, our actions, our thoughts on His past cases.

Is God the savior? L definitely fits that description—for some of us, at least. Certainly for me. If I hadn't been brought to Wammy's House, I would have gone criminally insane long ago. I'd probably be incarcerated by now.

Or maybe, maybe God is neither of those things. Maybe all God needs to be God is the adoration of his followers. L had that and more. He had our hearts, our minds, our loyalty sworn to him forever. Adoration, longing, love.

By any criteria, He was God.

Except—in the end, He wasn't.

In the end, He was just as human as we are, just as mortal, all too mortal.

Was He a false idol, then?

Maybe—and maybe it's foolish to keep worshipping a false idol after it's been cast down, but… that doesn't stop us. Doesn't stop me, anyway.

Fine, then.

L is God. Would that make Near His priest? Sounds about right—Near is the priest, the leader of worship, the one closest to God. The one who thinks as God does.

But the priest can never become God.

I take bitter comfort in knowing that.

…And I?

I am a blasphemer.

I am the Martin Luther, the John Calvin of L-ism. I am the disowned, the excommunicated priest. I preach against the common beliefs, and perhaps what I teach goes against the teachings of God Himself.

L preaches that laws are justice and should only be broken if utterly necessary; I take a freer interpretation of justice. For a swift and complete execution of justice, sometimes laws must be broken. That is what I preach through my actions.

Oh, I don't have a very large congregation, but there are those who understand. Perhaps Near even does—he is the priest, though, and he cannot and will not dirty his pallid hands. (But if someone else does it for him, then by all means.)

Unable to stand that hypocrisy, I left the "church." It's just as well—L would disown me for my actions anyway. I know that. I realize that, and I accept it. Dare I say that I bear that cross?

Maybe I fool myself—maybe my ideas are too incompatible with God's. Maybe I deserve to be cast aside, to burn in Hell for my actions. But I will never regret them.

Everything I do, I do for my God.


	10. Nominate

Wrote this a while ago... never got around to posting it. It's a WHU challenge one... A bit of a stretch again, I suppose. To link the title with the idea, I mean, but oh well.

**Character(s):** Near, Roger

**Setting:** Shortly after page.59

** Spoilers:** Strong, page.58/59

Disclaimer: It's late and I wanna go to bed. YOU decide whether or not I own DN.

* * *

A gentle hand touched Near's shoulder, pulling him out of spiraling thoughts, and Roger's voice said, "Near, will you come with me?"

Near blinked once and looked at him. "You're going to tell them?"

Roger nodded silently. Near stood and followed Roger toward the cafeteria. He could hear the voices of the other children; though blurred by distance, they still sounded happy—content, at least. Some people in Near's position would probably have been jealous of their ignorance. But Near wasn't. He felt sorry for them because they didn't know, and he felt sorry for them because they were about to find out. Paradoxical, perhaps, but he felt sorry all the same.

Roger creaked (had he seemed this old before? Near had never noticed) to the front of the cafeteria. "Children, I'd like your attention, please," he called, just over the volume of the crowd.

They quieted, most of them staring curiously at Near rather at Roger. There were still some whisperers in the crowd, but once Roger felt he had a large enough percentage listening to him, he looked sadly around and repeated the same awful sentence he'd told Near and Mello the day before.

"L is dead."

--Near thought he'd suddenly gone deaf. Was it even possible for a room full of people to become this silent so quickly? Had everyone stopped breathing at once? All Near could hear was his own pounding heart.

He felt sorry for them.

He knew better than to look around.

Finally a voice, female, shakily demanded, "Explain." Natalie. An older girl. High on the House's hierarchy, though Near couldn't remember exactly where she stood.

With a weak, sympathetic smile, Roger said, "Before his death, he prepared a mechanism to alert me if he passed away, and I received communication from that mechanism yesterday."

Now there were whispers, and soft tears. Near knew what they were thinking. _A whole day's gone by, and we assumed L was still alive, but he wasn't._ Again he pitied them, because Roger had explained the "mechanism" to him. It hadn't just been one day, but a whole month. A whole month of thinking about, of idolizing a dead person. It made him feel foolish. He didn't like being wrong.

Again Roger touched Near's shoulder, squeezed it. "Near has agreed to take on L's role from now on. Near, would you like to say anything?"

Near lifted his face and looked expressionlessly at the crowd, at those whom until yesterday he had thought of as peers, as classmates. But now he was set apart, not just by his own choice but by circumstance, and they were looking to him for reassurance.

"I will take on L's role," he reiterated, his tone deliberate and blank. "I may ask some of you for help in the future, and at that time I will appreciate your cooperation." That wasn't what they wanted to hear, and he could tell. He knew what they wanted to hear, too. But he was afraid to let it through his lips in front of everyone, afraid to reveal that he wasn't as cold as he pretended, afraid that if he said it some of what he really felt would slip through.

But they so needed to hear it, and Near felt sorry for them.

"I will catch Kira no matter what," he promised.


	11. Memory, Part Two

Yup... Memory, part two. Written on the twenty-sixth (go figure) for its irony (because I'm sadistic like that). Thanks to shinjorain for inspiring me to finally write this idea! I don't remember what her ff.n name is... Oh, it's Biru.

**Character(s):** Matt, Mello

**Setting:** Uhh... page.84?

** Spoilers:** mild for 84. If you are familiar with later chapters, you may find some irony in here because I'm a horrible, sadistic person.

Disclaimer: same as what I said last time.

* * *

Of course it wasn't that easy. 

"I told you to think about it!" Mello snapped instantly.

"What's there to think about?" I shot back. "Any of us would jump at the chance to catch Kira, Mello. You've got to know that."

"What's there to _think_ about?" he repeated sarcastically. "The danger of death, the threat to those you care about—hell, Matt, do you think this is fun? This isn't one of your video games—there are no cheat codes, there's no guaranteed way to win, and there's no way to come back to life if you die!"

"I hate cheat codes."

He gave an irritated sigh and fell silent. I rolled my eyes.

"Mello, sitting here in silence is not going to change my mind."

He still didn't say anything.

"Tell me where I can meet you or what I can do or something."

Finally, he said, "You're not in yet, okay? I just want to talk to you in person." He gave me the name of a small café in Manhattan and told me to be there as soon as possible. Then he hung up.

On the subway ride there, rather than playing video games, I sat back and thought about Mello's request. He needed me. That much I was sure of; he wouldn't have called if he didn't. His reluctance to let me help, then, was more for his own conscience's sake—if he warned me against the dangers before starting, then anything that potentially happened to me was my own fault. A sort of disclaimer on his soul.

"Ha ha ha."

My laugh drew uncomfortable stares from a few subway patrons, but I didn't care. His self-serving "concern" for me was ironic, and I found it amusing. Didn't need his concern anyway.

When I got to the café, I scanned the crowd—there he was. Blond hair, several chocolate bars spread out on the table. He was even reading a newspaper, the very picture of casualness. I sat down at his table. "Yo."

He lowered the paper and stared boldly into my face—and my stomach dropped a few centimeters. Partially hidden by his hair and a pair of wide sunglasses, a rough scar stretched across the left side of his face.

Shit. So that's why he'd wanted to see me in person.

Unthinkingly, I reached out to brush the disfigurement with my fingers. He flinched slightly, and I pulled my hand back. "Sorry," I muttered.

"No, go on, _Thomas_," he replied, and combed back some of his hair to reveal more of the wound.

I dropped my hand anyway. "I never doubted what you were saying," I protested sullenly, miffed being caught by his ploy. "Obviously it's going to be dangerous. Only a fool would doubt that. It just doesn't matter to me. I can take risks, Mello. Putting an end to Kira's life is more important than protecting my own—don't you feel the same way?"

"Not so loud," he rebuked, dodging the question. He picked up one of the chocolate bars and began to eat it contemplatively. Rather than just sit and wait for him to make up his mind, I pulled out a cigarette and lit up.

Mello looked at me dubiously. "…You smoke now?"

"Yeah."

His face contracted with distaste. "Cigarettes are bad for you. And they smell disgusting."

"I like them."

He rolled his eyes. "You'll die an early death smoking those things," he warned. After a moment more, his face twisted upwards in a smirk. "…So I'm not going to be able to scare you away?"

I met his eyes determinedly.

"Good."

I almost laughed again. A disclaimer for his soul indeed.

"All right. Pay close attention. I can't say all of this stuff outright and I don't have time to say any of it twice."

* * *

-Is killed for the irony- 


	12. Nerve

Inspired by seikatsuryoku: 1/10.

This was written a long time ago. And look, it fits into one of the WH Union challenge themes!  
Incidentally, this and... every other Death Note fanfiction I've ever written were written before I got my hands on page.109. ...So Yeah. Rather than change my headcanon, I've decided to believe that Near lied, because that is what he does. Also, because that is an awfully accurate finger puppet.

* * *

Slowly, it occurred to Near that he was conscious again. The realization was mainly brought about by the sensation of two fingers against his right wrist—taking his pulse. Someone was taking care of him.

Near opened his eyes.

"…Doctor," he said with a smile.

It would have seemed a strange thing indeed to see the skinny old man—a piece of his old life—here, of all places, if Near would have thought about it. In his current faintness, though, it was much easier to simply be comforted by the familiar face that returned his smile.

"Hello, N—" A conspicuous pause, and then an apologetic shrug. "Near. They said you were to be called that."

Near nodded and sat up. They must have brought him back to his own room after he'd collapsed, he noted. He hoped it hadn't stood out too much.

"Doctor, am I… am I fine?" he asked.

"Yes," the doctor replied. "You're fine, Near. It was another false alarm. You still have many years left to live."

Near sighed deeply in relief. "Thank goodness," he said. His voice suddenly seemed smaller. "I was scared, Doctor."

Mild surprise showed in the doctor's caring face. "I don't blame you, Near," he sympathized. "But that's the first time you've ever admitted that to me."

"It's the first time I've ever been scared by it," Near replied. His voice was back to normal. "Well, except for the first time. The first time I didn't know what was going on. But since then I've never forgotten—my body is flawed, and I'll probably die young. It's resignation."

"But you're not resigned anymore?" Near shook his head. The doctor placed his hand on Near's and asked softly, "Is it because of what happened to your mother?"

"Oh—no. It's not about Mom's death," Near responded, shaking his head again, with quicker movements this time. "Or only in a very roundabout way, I suppose. There's just something I'm looking forward to now. A reason I want to keep living."

"And that reason is?"

Suddenly those emotions bubbled into Near's chest again, hope and delight and pride, just as they had when L had shown Near his face and asked him to be his apprentice; his hands trembled in excitement. But he hid that joy and made his face apologetic.

"I can't tell you, Doctor. I'm sorry."

The doctor sighed. "I expected as much," he admitted. "…Near, I hope you don't mind me saying this, but from what I've seen, this is a strange place you're living in. Is it treating you all right?"

"Oh, yes," Near answered readily. And he hesitated, and his eyes fell on the clock next to his bed, confirming his suspicions. "I think I could ask you the same question, Doctor."

"What do you mean?" the man replied, not faking confusion very well.

"The fastest plane in the world couldn't have gotten you here this quickly, not from your hospital."

"I-I was transferred."

"I don't doubt that," Near said quietly. "But I'm sure _we_ had a hand in it, didn't we?"

The doctor pursed his lips and didn't respond.

"You're trying to hide it for my sake. There's no need to do so; I already know that the House can be very… straight-forward. Compelling, if the need arises." His mouth gave a wry twitch that was not quite a grimace. "All for this weak body of mine. I'm sorry. I hope it didn't inconvenience you too much."

"It's a very lucrative position," the doctor reassured him. "Much more so than my previous employment."

"Of course it is," Near agreed, "but money isn't everything. You had friends back there. And other patients."

The doctor looked sad for a moment, but then ruffled Near's hair. "I don't want you to worry about those things, Near. You're a child still."

"I'm not as innocent as you think, Doctor."

"No, I suppose not," the doctor smiled, "but will you pretend for me?"

Near shrugged in appeasement. "I guess I can try."


	13. Confessions and Considerations

Oh, look! Experimental grammar!  
Also written a long time ago.

* * *

"It's my fault those gang members died."

He was sitting on her couch and staring up at the ceiling, eyes narrowed very slightly as if in thought, when the words fell from his mouth. No tone in his voice, no regret or scorn or anything else. Just the cold hard facts.

Halle turned her face towards him and said what came to mind: "Kira would have gotten them eventually, anyway."

It was true and it should have displaced some of the guilt. But it wasn't comforting.

"They were terrible people. Murderers, rapists, thieves, druggies. But I knew them." Mello said to the ceiling. "And then they died."

Halle ventured a question. "You chose them for that reason, didn't you?"

"Yes," Mello confessed. "I did." He looked at Halle, inquisitive. "Is that worse?"

She gave a shrug. How was she to know? She had lost her sense of ethics, of morals, when she'd first gotten involved in this insane game. She was always telling herself that sacrifices were necessary, but how many sacrifices did she mean?

"Yagami's death, too." The ceiling was Mello's priest again. "Was my fault."

Halle was the one who had told him of Soichiro Yagami's death. She had just given him the information, back then, and he had just taken another bite of his chocolate bar. Now, he said:

"I regret that." And he gave a sigh, deep and sincere, and he tilted his head back so that he could only see the ceiling, pure and white, without seeing the limits of it. "He was an admirable old man."

It was just short of admitting that he had admired Yagami.

"Of course, he was a fool." _And so easy to manipulate._ "But a fool with ideals. The purest kind of person."

_The kind of person who should never have gotten involved in this filthy game._

They were both thinking it.

They were both filthy with sin and neither had any intention of stopping until the game was over, if then. They told themselves it was necessary, and on good days they believed themselves. On good days, Soichiro Yagami's death was convincing evidence that fools with ideals could achieve nothing in this game.

On bad days, they remembered that Yagami had fought Kira for six whole years and had caught one of the people who had played that role.

"He had never killed anyone, you know," Mello told Halle, sitting up then and reaching for a chocolate bar.

Halle watched his inscrutable face. "Really?"

"Yeah."


End file.
